The Hunchback of Notre-Dame. Виктор Мари Гюго

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СКАЧАТЬ into dead calm, as our old and dear Corneille puts it, had modestly retreated to the half-shadow of his pillar, and would, no doubt, have remained invisible there, motionless, and mute as before, had he not been plucked by the sleeve by two young women, who, standing in the front row of the spectators, had noticed his colloquy with Michel Giborne-Jupiter.

      “Master,” said one of them, making him a sign to approach. “Hold your tongue, my dear Liénarde,” said her neighbor, pretty, fresh, and very brave, in consequence of being dressed up in her best attire. “He is not a clerk, he is a layman; you must not say master to him, but messire.”

      “Messire,” said Liénarde.

      The stranger approached the railing.

      “What would you have of me, damsels?” he asked, with alacrity.

      “Oh! nothing,” replied Liénarde, in great confusion; “it is my neighbor, Gisquette la Gencienne, who wishes to speak with you.”

      “Not so,” replied Gisquette, blushing; “it was Liénarde who called you master; I only told her to say messire.”

      The two young girls dropped their eyes. The man, who asked nothing better than to enter into conversation, looked at them with a smile.

      “So you have nothing to say to me, damsels?”

      “Oh! nothing at all,” replied Gisquette.

      “Nothing,” said Liénarde.

      The tall, light-haired young man retreated a step; but the two curious maidens had no mind to let slip their prize.

      “Messire,” said Gisquette, with the impetuosity of an open sluice, or of a woman who has made up her mind, “do you know that soldier who is to play the part of Madame the Virgin in the mystery?”

      “You mean the part of Jupiter?” replied the stranger.

      “Hé! yes,” said Liénarde, “isn’t she stupid? So you know Jupiter?”

      “Michel Giborne?” replied the unknown; “yes, madam.”

      “He has a fine beard!” said Liénarde.

      “Will what they are about to say here be fine?” enquired Gisquette, timidly.

      “Very fine, mademoiselle,” replied the unknown, without the slightest hesitation.

      “What is it to be?” said Liénarde.

      “‘The Good Judgment of Madame the Virgin,’—a morality, if you please, damsel.”

      “Ah! that makes a difference,” responded Liénarde.

      A brief silence ensued—broken by the stranger.

      “It is a perfectly new morality, and one which has never yet been played.”

      “Then it is not the same one,” said Gisquette, “that was given two years ago, on the day of the entrance of monsieur the legate, and where three handsome maids played the parts—”

      “Of sirens,” said Liénarde.

      “And all naked,” added the young man.

      Liénarde lowered her eyes modestly. Gisquette glanced at her and did the same. He continued, with a smile,

      “It was a very pleasant thing to see. Today it is a morality made expressly for Madame the Demoiselle of Flanders.”

      “Will they sing shepherd songs?” enquired Gisquette.

      “Fie!” said the stranger, “in a morality? you must not confound styles. If it were a farce, well and good.”

      “That is a pity,” resumed Gisquette. “That day, at the Ponceau Fountain, there were wild men and women, who fought and assumed many aspects, as they sang little motets and bergerettes.”

      “That which is suitable for a legate,” returned the stranger, with a good deal of dryness, “is not suitable for a princess.”

      “And beside them,” resumed Liénarde, “played many brass instruments, making great melodies.”

      “And for the refreshment of the passers-by,” continued Gisquette, “the fountain spouted through three mouths, wine, milk, and hippocrass, of which every one drank who wished.”

      “And a little below the Ponceau, at the Trinity,” pursued Liénarde, “there was a passion performed, and without any speaking.”

      “How well I remember that!” exclaimed Gisquette; “God on the cross, and the two thieves on the right and the left.” Here the young gossips, growing warm at the memory of the entrance of monsieur the legate, both began to talk at once.

      “And, further on, at the Painters’ Gate, there were other personages, very richly clad.”

      “And at the fountain of Saint-Innocent, that huntsman, who was chasing a hind with great clamor of dogs and hunting-horns.”

      “And, at the Paris slaughter-houses, stages, representing the fortress of Dieppe!”

      “And when the legate passed, you remember, Gisquette? they made the assault, and the English all had their throats cut.”

      “And against the gate of the Châtelet, there were very fine personages!”

      “And on the Port au Change, which was all draped above!”

      “And when the legate passed, they let fly on the bridge more than two hundred sorts of birds; wasn’t it beautiful, Liénarde?”

      “It will be better today,” finally resumed their interlocutor, who seemed to listen to them with impatience.

      “Do you promise us that this mystery will be fine?” said Gisquette.

      “Without doubt,” he replied; then he added, with a certain emphasis, “I am the author of it, damsels.”

      “Truly?” said the young girls, quite taken aback.

      “Truly!” replied the poet, bridling a little; “that is, to say, there are two of us; Jehan Marchand, who has sawed the planks and erected the framework of the theatre and the woodwork; and I, who have made the piece. My name is Pierre Gringoire.”

      The author of the “Cid” could not have said “Pierre Corneille” with more pride.

      Our readers have been able to observe, that a certain amount of time must have already elapsed from the moment when Jupiter had retired beneath the tapestry to the instant when the author of the new morality had thus abruptly revealed himself to the innocent admiration of Gisquette and Liénarde. Remarkable fact: that whole crowd, so tumultuous but a few moments before, now waited amiably on the word of the comedian; which proves the eternal truth, still experienced every day in our theatres, that the best means of making the public wait patiently is to assure them that one is about to begin instantly.

      However, scholar Johannes had not fallen asleep.

      “Holà СКАЧАТЬ